


Retribution

by Azpou



Series: Need [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Aftermath, M/M, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Rape, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-06-19
Updated: 2000-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azpou/pseuds/Azpou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovery isn't as easy as he hoped. Sequel to Need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retribution

The guard stares up at the dark man, eyes wide with terror. Blood pours from a gash to his temple. His hands desperately twist within the grasp of the coarse rope tied tightly around his wrists, pulling his arms behind his back. He kneels, vulnerable and defenceless.

Teal'c stares back at him, allowing himself finally to vent the cold fury that had been corrupting his soul. This . . . thing . . . had harmed O'Neill. Harmed him greatly. And for that, he must die.

But how?

Teal'c has fantasised about this moment for many days. In the morning, when O'Neill stood in naked in the shower, scars inflicted by this . . . thing . . . glistening with moisture. In the briefing room, when O'Neill stood before General Hammond, boldly, willingly accepting any danger the General chose to send him into. On missions, when O'Neill talked himself recklessly into more danger than was necessary. At meal times, when O'Neill sat quietly, preoccupied with memories.

During their lovemaking, when O'Neill lay helpless with ecstasy, and Teal'c imagined him lying helpless with pain while this . . . thing . . . did as he chose.

At night, when O'Neill woke, screaming, terrified and in agony, and Teal'c held him while he shuddered and gasped his way back to reality.

Teal'c killed many people in many different ways during his time as First Prime to Apophis. He possesses great knowledge. How to manipulate reflexes, where to hit, where to cut. He knows, perfectly, how much pain the human body can withstand before the brain shuts down, closing thought processes. He can gauge accurately, although each person is different, exactly how much pain a body can withstand before its heart stops.

He could use this knowledge now, to great effect, and would take great pleasure in doing so.

But his purpose here is not to inflict pain. He wishes only to avenge O'Neill - and O'Neill would not approve of torture. O'Neill would not desire him to sink to the level of this . . . thing. Serving with O'Neill had taught him many things that the Goa'uld could not - honour, compassion, and justice, but loving O'Neill has, perhaps surprisingly, taught him restraint. His aim, here, now, is retribution. He will avenge O'Neill. Not because O'Neill wishes it so, but because he needs to.

He cannot, will not, stand by and watch this . . . thing . . . who had hurt his lover walk free with the elements. Every day, O'Neill suffered. Every day, O'Neill wept. Every day, O'Neill screamed.

Teal'c can withstand this no longer.

He very carefully aims his staff weapon at the guard. He stands only yards away, but he does not wish to miss.

The guard opens his mouth to beg, to plead, but the blast to his neck silences him. Forever.

The second blast Teal'c gives to the chest to make sure. He does not want this . . . thing . . . to live.

The third shot, this time to the face, Teal'c cannot resist.

-

O'Neill stands, silently gazing down upon the body at his feet. Killed by a staff weapon blast. Three staff weapon blasts. Chest, neck, and face. Nicely done.

_Killer's got good aim._

"The body was found in the lower levels of the naquada mine," Shyla tells him quietly.

"So?"

She stares at him, coldly. "My warrior was killed in extremely close quarters."

O'Neill stares around at the throne room, remembering the last time he was here. Begging Daniel to help them. Begging Daniel to get them out of that mine before the exhaustion killed them.

Before the guard killed him.

He shakes his head, determined to keep his mind on the job at hand. Plenty of time for reflection later, when he was alone. He will not submit to the memories. He will do his job.

"Do you know who he . . . was?"

Shyla shakes her head. "As you can see, the body is unrecognisable. But, we do know that he was one of those charged with the supervision of workers in the mine, at the time of your last visit."

She still can't call them slaves. Can't yet admit to herself what she had been. O'Neill meets her eyes. He doesn't like the way she watches him carefully.

"And this has to do with us . . . what, exactly?"

Shyla lowers her head, glances at him coyly from beneath her eyelashes. "We believe it is he who was responsible for the . . . welfare, of yourself and your team mates while you served down below."

_You believe, huh?_

"Of course," she continues, "we cannot identify him for certain."

He sighs impatiently. "Of course not."

They stare at each other for a long moment. O'Neill can't help but notice the shadows that pepper the skin stretched taughtly over her eye sockets. A side effect of sarcophagus withdrawal. She looks, acts older, less fresh.

He wonders what she sees when she looks at him.

He watches her now, standing tall, drawing on inner reserves. She's tired. She isn't sleeping well. She still suffers from nightmares. He knows this. He knows this, and yet feels nothing.

"There is no way to prove which staff weapon fired the blast," she says now, sternly, firmly. The leader of her people. "But rest assured, Colonel O'Neill, that should such a thing happen again to one of my warriors while your SG teams are here, all relations with your planet shall be suspended."

_Teal'c. What have you done?_

He nods at her, smiling his best friendly, understanding smile.

"Of course, ma'am, but please believe me when I say that no one among my people would do something so barbaric."

_No one except Teal'c. Damn him._

She looks up at him, smiling back. It doesn't reach her eyes. "Of course."

He nods politely, and turns to leave, deliberately forcing himself to look at the remains of the sarcophagus.

He remembers being taken there . . .

"Colonel O'Neill."

He pushes the memory aside. "Yeah?"

Shyla walks over to him, stands close so that he can smell the diffused sweetness of her breath, and rests a small, white hand on his arm. "I am fully aware of what transpired between you and my warrior," she says gently. "Please believe me when I tell you that he was punished severely."

He stares down at the floor, catching himself.

_I don't want to hear this._

He pulls away quickly, meets her eyes.

She smiles at him, but the tone of her voice becomes icy. "Please restrain your own warrior from future interference with our justice proceedings."

_It's like that, is it? How nice._

He glares at her, drawing on the anger that lies deep within him. "Miss Shyla, my warrior, as you call him, had nothing to do with the death of this man. Perhaps, in the future you're so keen to preach about, you should check your facts before making accusations like that. I suggest you look to your own people before looking at mine." He can't resist adding cruelly, "Or is murder unheard of in these parts?"

She glares back, equally angry, and opens her mouth to reply.

He pretends not to notice and walks away. He doesn't want to hear.

_God, but I hate this planet._

-

He strides angrily over the shingled earth, not noticing the way his feet slide and stumble across potholes and loose rocks.

Teal'c sits, calm and serene, at the edge of a precipice, dark eyes scanning the surrounding land.

_How can he be so damn calm? He just killed a guy!_

O'Neill knows his anger comes partly from guilt. Teal'c killed for him. He knows this, and he cannot, in honesty, say that he isn't happy. The idea that his attacker, his torturer, his monster, could walk free with family and friends sickened his soul.

_I don't have a family. Why should he?_

But he also knows that he has a job to do. He cannot allow the possibility of a long term supply of naquada to slip through their fingers simply because he has personal issues with two particular inhabitants.

_Shyla. I still want to kill that bitch. And . . . him._

O'Neill doesn't even know who he was. Would never know, now.

_Do I even want to know?_

He doesn't know.

-

He stops by Teal'c, and rests his fingers on his partner's head. "How're you doing?"

Teal'c keeps his eyes fixed on the rocky landscape below. "I am well, O'Neill."

O'Neill can't handle that. How can Teal'c be well? He drops down beside him, his knees creating small craters in the dust. "Are you sure?" he asks, almost pleading.

Teal'c meets his eyes. He nods, minutely, his lips quirking into a small grin. "Yes, O'Neill. I am very well."

O'Neill stares at him. He tries to muster some of the anger he had felt only seconds ago, but finds little more than the familiar, crushing sense of memory he has lived with for as long as he can remember. He places his hand, pale and unsteady, onto Teal'c's cheek, and gently rubs his thumb along the socket line.

"Why?" he whispers.

Teal'c turns to face him, cups O'Neill's head with large, soft palms. "I care for you deeply, my friend," he says quietly. "I did what needed to be done."

"For whom? Me? Or yourself?"

Teal'c sits back, his eyebrows lowering into a frown. "Why do you ask me such a thing? Are you displeased with my actions?"

"Just answer the question," O'Neill demands, harshly, and wishes he could take back his tone when Teal'c's eyes darken with hurt.

"For you. I care for you . . . I have great love. For you. Do you expect me, a Jaffa, to stand by and watch, helpless, while my love hurts? While my love screams?"

"I don't scream," O'Neill says indignantly.

"Not with your words," Teal'c answers. "With your actions, and with your thoughts. I can hear your screams, O'Neill. And it hurts me to hear them." He turns his face away. "I could not live with the thought that he who had caused you this pain walked free. I desired his death. If this was a selfish desire, I apologise, but I cannot regret it."

O'Neill forces himself to breathe, deeply.

What now?

-

O'Neill gazes out at the landscape below. It reminds him, vaguely, of Chulak. That same combination of dust and trees, water and desert, sandy rock and clay-thick mud. The same smells. Fear. Sweat. Dirt. Hate. After so many years in the service, he can smell hate. And fear. Knows the scents intimately. No matter the location, the smell is always the same.

He hates it.

The naquada adds a rather . . . tinny aspect to the atmosphere.

_Naquada. That's important. I should bring that up._

"Teal'c," he says sternly. Team-leader, not lover. "You do know you could have cost us the opportunity to keep Carter and the tech boys smiling for the rest of their lives, don't you?"

Teal'c nods gravely. "I do."

"And you know that was stupid?"

"I do."

O'Neill stops, flabbergasted. "You do realise how important naquada is to General Hammond?"

"I do. But I believe that you are more important to me."

They fall silent again.

_And that's it?_

He can't believe it. "You're such a selfish asshole, Teal'c." He doesn't bother to keep the smile out of his voice.

Teal'c glances at him. "I do not believe you are displeased with my actions at all."

O'Neill snickers. "What can I say? I have a job to do, you know."

"I do."

O'Neill shakes his head in amazement. "You're really something else," he says quietly.

"As you tell me every night." Teal'c smirks at him.

O'Neill laughs, hard. It feels good. He hasn't laughed, really laughed, for over a month. He's missed it. Missed having the ability to forget the past in a wave of hysteria, the ability to deflect trauma with a sly remark, a silly joke. He knows he has a lot to be grateful for.

"I love you, too."

Teal'c smiles at him gently, takes his hand. "You have not told me this before."

"I wouldn't have meant it before," O'Neill says, honestly. He brings Teal'c's thumb to his lips, and bites it gently, before pushing the Jaffa back onto the ground.

Teal'c stares up at him, smiling. "I have missed you, O'Neill. Missed your smile."

O'Neill blinks, fiercely. "I've missed it, too." He leans forward and kisses him, Teal'c's tongue soft and pliable against his. They dance, slowly, lovingly, thrusting in and out, before O'Neill sits up regretfully. "We can't do this here, you know. There are Marines crawling all over the place. Damn things are like insects."

Teal'c's abrupt laugh booms out into the air. O'Neill watches him silently, awed.

_How did I get so damn lucky?_

He touches his fingers gently to his lover's golden marking. "I've never said thank you, you know."

Teal'c smiles, genuinely bemused. "For what?"

O'Neill kisses him again, impulsively. "For everything. Being there. Sticking with me. I can't believe . . . everything." He spreads his arms, wide. "I don't know how to say it. I don't think there are words."

Teal'c nods, understanding. "I love you, O'Neill."

He grins back at him. "And I love you."

They stare at each other for a few seconds, before O'Neill laughs, giddy as a teenager once again, and stands. Reaching down, he hauls Teal'c to his feet. "What do you say we continue this back at my place? We've been here for a week. We need a rest."

"Will not General Hammond object to our leaving this planet so soon?"

"Nah." O'Neill waves his hand dismissively. "He probably expected us back days ago. Besides, I need you, Teal'c. I don't care what the other bald guy says. I am going through that big metal circle regardless. And you're coming with me, even if I have to carry you myself."

Teal'c smiles, capitulating. "As you wish."

They turn to leave.

O'Neill pauses and looks out across the crop fields beyond the rocks. He's struck by the tranquility - it reminds him of Cheyenne Mountain during the day. Not the complex, but the mountain itself. Beautiful.

He smiles at Teal'c. "Let's go."

-

He stands at the threshold of blue, and hesitates. He doesn't feel . . . right. There are too many memories invested in this place, too many emotions. Bad emotions, bad memories, but a part of him. He doesn't feel able to walk away, as if nothing had ever happened, as if everything were the same.

He turns, and stares. At Shyla first of all, her long brown hair glinting like frosted cocoa in the sun. He knows this is hard for her. Daniel occupies a place in her heart, and he knows that she doesn't know whether that place, that space, will ever be filled again. He knows that sarcophagus withdrawal, and its continuing effects, will be difficult for her to cope with alone, without Daniel to support her.

He watches the people milling about in the shrubland surrounding the Stargate. He recognises some. From the mine. He smiles briefly.

At least something good has happened here.

And this is what he's been searching for since the day SG-1 returned. Resolution. Closure. He understands, now, that he's been searching, desperately, for some slight hint that their ordeal had not been in vain. That his own suffering, which continued to this day, and would continue always, had not been an exercise in futility. These well-fed, rested, safe and free people had gained happiness as a result of SG-1's experiences.

He doesn't know for certain that it had been worth it, but he can already feel the regret leaving his soul.

He's about to walk through the Stargate, when he catches movement to his left. A person. Their eyes lock, and they start in an instant of recognition. The contact is fleeting, momentary, but O'Neill knows. He is . . . shocked. He stands mute in surprise.

_How the fuck . . . ?_

He jumps at the feel of Teal'c's hand upon his shoulder, unsettled, his reflexes suddenly on edge. He looks up, and feels his muscles relax at the calm, concerned look on his lover's face and the protective stance of his body.

Teal'c is there.

"Are you ready to leave this world, O'Neill?"

O'Neill hesitates. Again.

_Am I?_

He looks again at the person standing to his left, then back at Teal'c. He nods, and feels some of his anger slip away. "Yeah. Let's go."

He doesn't tell Teal'c that he killed the wrong guy.

_God, I hate this planet._


End file.
